


You give me fever

by CaetyLou



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Caring Dean, Comfort, Comforting Dean, Community: spn-masquerade, Fever, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mildly Dubious Consent, Neediness, Rimming, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:55:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaetyLou/pseuds/CaetyLou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is sick and clingy and Dean is just a little turned on and a whole lot creeped out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 3 of spn_masquerade. Thanks OP for the awesome prompt.

Sam had been quiet all evening, meeting any question about how he was feeling with a snarky response and full power bitch face. He’d picked at his cobb salad in the diner saying he wasn't hungry. Dean isn't fooled but as much as he would just love to just hole them both up far away from here before Sam gets bad, people are dying and they have a job to do. 

Still he keeps a close eye on Sam, his movements in the graveyard are slower, more laboured than usual but he stubbornly takes his turn at digging up the grave, even if it does take longer and needs more rock salt rounds than usual to keep said restless bunny-boiling spirit at bay. Still, Dean reasons, better Sam’s slower digging than distracted guarding. It goes unmentioned but not un-noticed when his broad shoulders shake with a suppressed cough, when he’s breathing harsher or sweating faster than usual. Dean knows from experience if he tries to make a big deal of it now Sam will get all stubborn and end up twice as ill for twice as long and as much as adorable as Sam is when he is poorly, he hates seeing his brother suffer.

Job done, the vengeful spirit of the jilted mistress salted and burned, they head back to the Impala and peel out. Sam is starting to look pale and he’s not managing to suppress his cough nearly as well as he’s trying to. His head keeps dropping and jerking back up as he desperately fights sleep. Dean switches the radio on low; he knows how to handle a sick Sam.

“Hey man we’re hours from anywhere, why don’t you get some shut eye now then we can trade?” 

“You sure?” His voice is rough

“Yeah man” Sam just nods and slides down in his seat, closing his eyes and splaying his long legs. Dean raises an eyebrow; he mustn't be well.

They drive through the star-lit back roads of Nebraska, nothing for miles so Dean pushes the speed limit hoping he can get back to the bunker before Sam really goes downhill. His brother sleeps fitfully, wet sounding coughs coming more frequently. He’s curled in on himself, fidgeting, unable to get comfortable. Dean notices the red blotches of colour high on his cheeks as he starts to shiver. Dean sighs; there’s no way they are going to make it back to the bunker. He presses the back of his hand to Sams cheek, his skin is hot and dry. He opens his window to get some of the cool night air into Baby. Sam gives a sleepy little moan, his face screwing up in displeasure.

“Mm cold” 

“You’ve got a fever”

“Nooo” his big hand paws at Deans thigh and he shifts to try to curl in close to Dean's warmth “Noo, close it, m’cold Dean”. 

Dean can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he caves and shuts the window. He thought Sam would sit back but he tries to scoot closer and goddamn snuggle. Dean can't push him away; Sammy is just so adorably clingy and sweet when he’s not well. A particularly violent shiver shakes the hand on his thigh, causing the long fingers to press tighter into the denim. He sighs and turns on the heater, smiling again at the little purr it draws from Sam. He’ll turn it off as soon as the violent shivers stop. He really needs to find somewhere to stop and take care of Sam. He slows to a stop at the side of the deserted road and pulls out the map from the glove box, flicking on the interior light. Sam lifts his head, eyes barely open.

“M’turn to drive?”

Dean chuckles “Hell no, just checking the road” Sam is too addled to argue and his head lolls back against Dean's shoulder. There’s a motel around 45 minutes from where they are right now.

He checks them in in 30. 

 

Getting a six foot four semi-delirious baby moose from the Impala to the room was never going to be the easiest task but he’s had a lot of practice. Grabbing the bags from the trunk and tossing them into the room first, he hauls Sam out of the passenger seat pulling one arm around his shoulders to bring them hip to hip, well his hip to the top of Sams thigh but same thing right? He wraps his other arm around Sams waist, grabbing his belt for extra stability. Sam feels like a furnace burning through all their layers into his freckled skin. He kicks the motel room door closed behind them and sits Sam on the bed, Sam immediately starts to flop backwards, making Dean jump to grab his shoulder

“Not yet buddy, sit up a minute ok?” Sam nods as Dean reaches to grab the first aid kit out of the duffel. He roots out the thermometer, slipping it between Sams dry lips and under his tongue before he can register a complaint. Sam screws up his face, Dean waves a finger at him “Nuh uh Sammy, you stay there while I get you some water” 

He dashes to the bathroom, rips the cellophane off the crappy plastic cup and fills it with not-very-cold cold water. He’s back in the bedroom as the thermometer starts to bleep. He reaches out and plucks it from Sams mouth with one hand, holding out the water with the other.

“M’not sick Dean, just tired” 

Dean frowns at the thermometer

“Temp of a hundred and one begs to differ Sammy” 

Sam just tuts and takes a gulp of the water which throws him into a coughing fit. Dean rubs his back “Try sipping it” when he’s sure Sam isn’t going to choke again, he grabs a pack of Tylenol out of the first aid kit and pops a couple into Sammys shaking palm. When he’s swallowed them (between coughing fits) Dean takes the empty cup from him and sets it on the table before bending down to take off Sams boots.

“Can do it Dean” 

Dean huffs “You can barely sit up straight, just let me help you Sammy” 

Sam rolls his eyes, even if it does hurt to do so, but lets Dean pull off his boots and socks. Dean undoes his belt and Sam shifts his hips so Dean can wrangle his dirt coated jeans down his legs and toss them in the corner. Leaving his boxer-briefs on, Dean pushes back up to standing and helps Sam out of his shirt and stinking T-shirt. He grabs another Tee out of Sams duffle, turning back to see Sams arms across his chest hugging himself as goose bumps pepper his smooth, tanned skin. Dean blinks a couple of times before Sam pouts at him and holds his arms out for his t-shirt. Dean pushes the messed up hair back into place as Sams head pops through the neck hole. Another cough racks him and Dean hands him some Kleenex and rubs his back through the worst of it.

Dean pulls back the yellow floral comforter and Sam practically dives beneath it. Chuckling Dean heads back to the bathroom and returns with a cool facecloth. He sits on the edge of Sams bed and presses it to his forehead. Sam moans and tries to push him away but he’s got himself so tightly wrapped in the blanket he can’t get his arms out.

“Shhhh shhh Sammy” Dean soothes as he reaches up and cards his fingers through his brothers long, girly, soft brown hair. Sam relaxes at the comforting touch and it doesn’t take long for him to drift off. Dean stays watching his sleeping brothers’ face scrunch and twitch and nuzzle into the hand stroking his hair like he did when he was little.


	2. Chapter 2

He stays like that until a cramp pinches his thigh from the awkward angle he’s perched on Sams bed. Carefully he gets up and when Sam doesn’t stir he heads to the kitchenette and grabs the ice bucket and practically sprints across the lot to the ice machine. He fills it up and is back in the room in a heartbeat. Sam has curled onto his side, completely passed out and snoring wheezily. 

Dean chuckles to himself and toes off his heavy work boots by the door and heads into the bathroom. He leaves the door open a crack in case Sam needs him and yanks his over-shirt and Henley over his head in one motion, chucking them in a pile in the corner. He cranks the shower handle up to the hottest it will go. Steam spills from behind the yellowed shower curtain. He shucks his jeans and boxers off, stepping out of them, kicking them to what is now the laundry pile and balances against the sink to peel off his damp socks. 

He steps under the spray and lets out a hiss as the scalding water needles his shoulders. He just stands there a moment, enjoying the heat and the pressure on his aching shoulders and knots in his neck. He doesn’t want to linger though so grabs the shampoo, scrubbing the citrus goop through his dark blonde spikes and ducking his head back under the spray, eyes closed against the suds trailing down his face, shoulders and back. He lathers up the soap, washing away the grave dirt and sweat and grime. His soapy hands dwell on his lower abdomen, just under his navel. His cock is half hard; he wraps a soap-slippery palm around it and tugs gently. The moan from his lips is involuntary. He’ll have to be quiet; he doesn’t want Sam to hear him jerking off, especially when he’s sick. He leans his head out of the shower, he can just see the edge of Sam's bed. Sam has rolled over onto his front, star-fished out, left arm and feet hanging over the edges of the bed, floppy hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed but his face is relaxed and his mouth hangs slightly open. The rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is deep and even. Oh yeah, he's out for the count.

Dean's fully hard now; his hand slides up and down, twisting over the head every couple of strokes as his hips rock into his fist. He braces himself on the back wall of the shower, resting his forehead on this muscular forearm and biting his lower lip to keep quiet. When he feels the familiar curl low in his spine, travelling up to his balls, he lifts his head and presses his open mouth onto the freckled skin of his bracing arm, muffling the sounds that escape. He keeps one ear open for any sound from Sammy as his hips stutter and he paints the avocado green tile with thick white ropes of come.

 

He’s finished his shower, cleaned up after himself and is towelling off his hair when a low whine comes from Sams bed. He leans out again and see’s a very pale, bleary eyed Sam sat up in bed, his back hunched over. He runs from the bathroom.

“De don’t feel good” 

Dean grabs the plastic waste bin and dives, just in time for Sam to empty his stomach into the bin. He pushes Sams floppy hair back behind his ears and strokes his back murmuring soothing noises as Sam wretches and coughs, tears squeezed from his eyes, even though there’s nothing more coming up. Deans own stomach flip flops; Sam hates vomiting more than anything else, it leaves him wrecked and clingy.

“Shhhh its ok Sammy, better out than in” Sam watery hazel eyes glare at him “You all done?” Sam reaches for the plastic cup, rinses, spits and hesitates a moment before he nods and wipes his mouth with a shaky hand. Dean takes it into the bathroom to clean it out in case it’s needed again. He grabs another wash cloth, running it under the hot tap and squeezing the water out. Sam’s flopped back down on his pillows when he comes back. He puts the bin back by the side of the bed, just in case, and leans down to wipe Sams face for him. The high colour patches on his cheeks look even more marked against his pallid skin. He kicks down the comforter, getting his long legs and huge feet tangled in the sheets; he pulls at the neck of his Tee. Dean presses the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead again. He feels even hotter. Dean grabs the thermometer out of the kit again. He nudges his brother who jumps awake, blinking his red rimmed eyes.

“Sammy?” He waggles the thermometer “Open up, gotta check your temp again” Sam doesn’t even bitch face him this time. Plastic safely under Sams tongue he stands to go put some clothes on but he’s dragged back when Sam grabs at the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Ngo” he mumbles around the thermometer, his eyes glassy. Sam’s always been clingy when he’s not well. 

“Not going anywhere Sammy, just need some shorts ok?” He cards his fingers through Sams sweaty hair, gross but guaranteed to calm him almost instantly. 

Sam nods, his shoulders relaxing down but starts to whine as Dean's weight lifts off the bed, his fist tightening around the scratchy thin motel towel threatening to yank it off. Clutching his towel in a death grip, Sams giant hand still clinging to the edge; in a feat of fucking gymnastics Dean manages to slide his far leg out and hook his foot through the strap of his duffel dragging it closer. 

“Things I do for you Sammy” he mutters. 

He drags on a pair of blue cotton boxer briefs, discards the towel and finds a clean, soft grey round neck tee that’s half over his head as the thermometer starts bleeping.

“103.6. Shit Sammy” He scrubs his hand through his damp spikes. He can’t give him any more Tylenol but there’s no way it was in his system long enough. He needs to get his fever down before he starts hallucinating or something. He spots a big plastic bowl on the kitchenette counter, probably meant to be a fruit bowl. That'll do. He fills it with tepid water from the tap, considering for a moment using cold and topping it up with ice. No, he doesn't want to put Sam into shock, he’ll keep that as a last resort.

Grabbing a clean wash cloth and the other crappy towel from the bathroom, he perches on Sams bed again, placing the stuff on the bedside table. He leans forward grabbing Sam under the arms and pulling him up.

“C’mmon Sam, we gotta cool you down”

“M’too hot De”

“I know Sammy, this'll help, I promise” 

He spreads out the towel behind Sam and tugs his T-shirt off before helping him lay back down. Sam clutches Deans bare thigh in his calloused palm again. He squeezes most of the water out of the cloth and presses the cooling material to Sam’s face, pressing it to his forehead and gently wiping down his cheeks. He wets it again and drags it down his throat, careful not to press on the bobbing Adams apple

“Mmmm” Sam lets out a content little sigh, flexing his fingers and relaxing his grip as the water cools on his skin. 

“See, told you I’d make you feel better baby boy” 

He repeats the dampen, squeeze and wipe over Sams shoulders, droplets of water pooling in the space above his clavicle before spilling over and running down the base of his neck and into his long sweat-damp hair. He watches the water bead on the dark lines of Sams anti-possession tattoo, fascinated how the water makes the contrast between black line and tan skin look bigger. Soaking the cloth through again he wipes it lower on Sams chest, across his broad chest, the solid curve of his pecs, across the dark circles and strangely pale peaks. Sam gives a soft little moan as the tepid water cools his hot skin, stiffening the dark buds. Dean swallows hard. The noises softly slipping from Sams lips are distinctly ones of restrained pleasure; he should know- they've shared a room since forever. Sam bites his lip to keep a moan in and Dean’s cock gives an interested twitch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd- all mistakes are my own.

He jumps off the bed like he’s been scalded. Sam’s eyes squint open

“What's wrong De?” He asks Dean’s back

“I…I think you’re done Sammy” comes the slightly squeaky reply

“Please don’t stop De, it feels nice and I’m so hot” 

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t deny Sam isn’t sounding so fever-drunk and there isn’t a lot else he can do for his baby brother right now. He lets the breath out in a long sigh,

“Ok, just let me get some fresh water, flip on your belly, I’ll do your back” At least he can keep Sammy from seeing anything he shouldn’t.

Keeping his back to the bed he reaches for the bowl and takes it into the kitchenette. The sink gurgles as the dirty water swills down the drain. He fiddles with the mixer tap and refills the bowl, checking the temperature with his wrist. A glance over to the bed to confirm Sam has rolled over and won’t see him and he presses the heel of his hand into his semi-filled cock. Hard. Harder than he needs to, hard enough to knock him a bit sick. Sicker. 

“Traitor” he mutters, looking down. Soon as Sammy is better, he’s hitting a bar or three and getting whatever this is out of his system. But for now he has a sasquatch to take care of. He heads back to the bed where Sam is lay on his tummy. Legs splayed, all laid out. The large muscles of his lats dance under golden skin as he shuffles to get comfortable. The perfect lines of his broad shoulders taper down in the classical V to a narrow waist, the dip at the base of his spine sloping up to the curve of his ass hidden under the soft fitted black flannel. He’s seen Sam naked plenty, they live in each others pockets, he changed Sammy’s diaper for Christ sake. He wipes a sweaty palm on the side of his shorts.

‘The fuck is wrong with you?’ he asks himself.

“De?” Sam breaks him out of his musing.

“Yeah, right here Sammy” He makes himself move, this is for Sammy he reminds himself. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his brother, even if it hurts himself. He perches on the edge of the bed by Sam’s hip and takes up the washcloth again. 

Sam reaches back and buries his hand in the coarse hair and soft warmth of his brothers thigh as Dean wipes down his back, his shoulders and the backs of his arms. Sam squeals and squirms when Dean gets too close to his underarms. Dean chuckes, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes; he’d forgotten how ticklish Sammy was. He’s tempted to put the cloth down and tickle him, make him keep giggling, it’s been so long since he’s heard it but the laughing triggers a coughing fit. Sam pushes himself up onto his elbows and hacks into the Kleenex Dean holds to his lips. He massages concentric circles into the shaking muscles and murmurs words of encouragement and comfort ‘That’s it Sammy, cough it all up, you’re ok’ whiles he tries not to notice how smooth Sam’s skin is, how the downy fine hair feels so soft against his calloused palm.

Sam flops down with an exhausted groan. Dean re-wets his cloth and continues his ministrations, avoiding Sams ticklish spots this time. Sam’s hand is back on his Dean leg but at least the pillows are muffling the contented little purrs the cooling water is drawing from his ravaged throat. Dean sponges long lines down Sams back. He squeezes the cloth, letting droplets trickle along the sides of his ribs and his flank, down the cut of his narrow hips, into the sweep of his lumbar spine, soaking into the grey waistband of his boxers. 

By the time he finishes, Sam is starting to drift off; contentedly humming to himself with his fingers wrapped in the hem of Deans shorts whilst Dean thinks of dead bodies, scrambled tofu and Miss Chancey, an old baby sitter who smelt of mothballs and cats. He wrings out the cool cloth one last time, gently sweeping Sams hair to the side to place it on the back of his neck. Sams colour is better and his breathing has evened out. Dean gently untangles Sams long fingers from his boxers, resting his hand down to his side gently as he slides off the bed. He rolls Sam just enough to whip the damp towel out from underneath and pulls a single sheet up to cover him. Sam just snuggles sweetly into the pillow bringing another soft smile to Deans eyes. He brushes a stray length of hair from Sams face and whispers

“Night Sammy”

He doesn’t make it half way across to his own bed.

“De? De?”

“S’alright Sammy, I’m here” Sammy half rolls to look over his shoulder at Dean with eyes that would fucking rival a Labrador puppy

“Where you going?

“Not going anywhere Sammy, just gonna put the bowl away and go to bed”

“Get in with me, please?”

“C’mon Sam…”

“Please De? Don’t feel well” the eyes get even wider and he gives a pathetic little cough, which then sparks a whole round of real wracking coughs that make those big hazel doe eyes water. 

Dean huffs “Serves you right” but he’s smiling gently as he sits back down on the edge of the bed and rubs soothing patterns on Sams back while he tried to hack up a lung, handing him a Kleenex to spit up in while he dabs at Sams watering eyes with another. When he’s finally finished, he’s shaking and grasping weakly at Dean wrist.

“Please De?” he pleads, scooting over to make room for his big brother

Dean rolls his eyes but flicks off the light and slides under the offered sheet. He is immediately covered in 6 foot 4 190lbs of very warm, slightly damp and very fidgety baby brother.

“C’mon Sammy, roll over and go to sleep”

Sam shuffles and wriggles until he is finally comfortable on his side with his right arm tucked under the pillow, feet hanging over the end of the bed with his back plastered to Dean’s chest, too-warm skin buffered only by Deans wash softened tee, his butt has worked its way to rest in Deans groin. Sam grabs Dean’s hand and pulls his arm across himself, pressing it into his chest. He hums contentedly. 

They lie there for a few moments, soft breathing the only sounds. 

“De?”

“What Sammy?”

“You awake?”

“No, Sammy”

“Jerk. Scratch my back for me?...like you used to when I was sick when I was little? Please?” Dean rolls his eyes again at his brothers pleading tone.

“Fine” He leans back to create some space between them “Anything else bitch?” Sam shakes his head and Dean gently drags his short blunt nails across the taut, tanned skin of Sam’s back. Sam wiggles his butt right, right up against Dean’s groin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is as far as I got. In two minds whether to leave it here or carry on with more caring Dean and dopey Sammy...
> 
> Thanks for Comments and kudos- you guys are awesome and it makes me very happy :) Comments are like catnip!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So your wish is my command lovelies here is my next chapter. Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos, it inspires me to continue. Apologies for the delay-I've managed to break my hand so I'm typing one handed and its taking ages!  
> Un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

“Fine” He leans back to create some space between them “Anything else bitch?” Sam shakes his head and Dean gently drags his short blunt nails across the taut, tanned skin of Sams back. Sam wiggles his butt right, right up against Dean’s groin. 

“Mmm s’nice De” another wiggle. Dean tastes blood as he bites hard on the inside of his cheek. It’s gonna be a long night.

 

Slowly Sam’s little moans and purrs give way to slow even breaths and soft snores. Dean carries on tracing the lines of Sam’s back with his fingernails.

Don’t want to disturb him, want to be sure he’s really asleep this time, he reasons. 

Truth is, once Sam had stopped his infernal wriggling, damn kid had ants in his pants or something, Dean laughs softly at the childish phrase that popped out of nowhere. Truth is, that once Sam settled down, he found himself enjoying the closeness. He relaxed as he watched tension bleed from Sam’s muscles and sleep take hold. His breath naturally fell into rhythm with Sam’s, his chest moving in time with his brothers back. The trail of his fingers over the lax musculature was weirdly therapeutic, hypnotic almost. Sam was still running hot but he wasn’t burning like earlier and Dean found the heat of Sam’s body comforting, cosy even, after being cold all night.

He’s so tired, his eyes ache and burn but he won’t sleep when Sam is sick. Gotta look out for Sammy, keep him safe. 

‘Keep him safe from you’ a nasty voice whispers in his ear. 

His hand stills, he blinks hard, not sure where that came from, he’d never hurt his Sammy. Sam shuffles, a sleepily murmured demand for continued back scratching, forces a wry smile to Dean’s lips and his fingernails back to tracing the contours of his spine. Sam gives a little contented sign and his breathing evens out once more. Eventually Dean can’t fight anymore and sleep pulls him under too.

 

The first ray of sunlight through the flimsy 70’s print curtain burns through Dean’s eyelids. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter in response. The motel pillow is thin and lumpy at the same time and smells like death. Bed must be next to a radiator cos it’s hot as hell. He rolls onto his back but there’s nothing there and he’s falling. His arms and legs flail to find something to grab. His butt hits the skeevy brown carpet floor before his hand finds purchase. His blinks, momentarily stunned, one foot still on the bed. A mop of floppy brown hair peers over the side of the bed and giggles.

“You fell on your butt”

“What…?” Dean blinks again and rubs his eyes, the night before slowly coming back to him. Sam leans further over the edge, cheeks pink, hazel eyes bright.

“Yeah, you were all…” Sam rolls onto his back with a squeaking noise and flails his arms and legs in the air like a dying cockroach before dissolving into more giggles. 

Great his fever must be creeping back up. Dean pulls himself up off the floor.

“Yeah yuck it up chuckles” he grumbles, heading to the bathroom and rubbing his butt where he landed. Sam hangs his head upside down over the edge of the mattress and pokes his lower lip way out.

“Awwww poor big brother, you want I should kiss it better?” he asks, making kissy noises before dissolving into fits of giggles.

The image of Sammy on his knees kissing Deans ass pops into his head. His stomach flip-flops and all his blood rushes south. He flips Sam the bird without turning; he’s not risking Sammy seeing what is most definitely not morning wood. He slams the bathroom door behind him. 

“Hey you’re always telling me to kiss your ass” Sam calls out between guffaws.

Dean leans on the sink, his breath stuttering and ragged. Sam on his knees kissing Deans ass. Using those massive hands to hold his cheeks open, all spread out for him, no secrets, no where to hide.

His swollen cock taps at his belly, leaving a slick of precome clinging to the blonde downy curls that extended up to his belly button. He splashes cold water on his face and tries to think of all his usual boner killers but the image of Sammy’s lips on his most intimate place keeps popping back up. Speaking of popping back up… Christ what is wrong with him?! He needs to sort Sam out before he goes from dopey to delusional but he can’t go back in there with a massive leaking hard-on and god-damn it he needs to pee! 

He jumps in the shower and turns the cold on full blast, stifling a yelp when it hits him. His cock starts to soften and he breathes a sigh of relief. He is definitely hitting the bars when Sam is better and fucking what ever the hell has gotten into him right back out. He knows he likes a little back door play thanks to Rhonda Hurley- bless her kinky satin panties-and the odd partner since, like that waitress, in Illinois…what was her name? Karen? Kara? Something like that. What he does remember is pretty eyes, long hair, great titties and how completely wild she was in the sack.

Great, now he’s hard again. Oh well better than being hard over… No! No, he shakes his head, don’t even think it. Concentrate on Karen/Kara, tossing that mane of dark curls, gasping and panting, soft breasts bouncing under his hands as she rode the hell out of him. He turns the warm water up; cold wasn't helping anyway. His nipples tingle as he draws the soap across them, trailing down his belly, his leaking head bumping the back of his hand. He slides his palm over his aching length, slicking it with soap and the clear fluid seeping from his slit. 

He moves further down, massaging circles into his balls with the pads of his fingers. Thinking of Karen/Kara pushing him back on the motel bed and swallowing him down to the root. Another stroke up the length, this time he twists his wrist at the top and has to bite back a little moan. 

Completely distracted by her throat around his head, he didn't really register the finger tip tracing around his entrance, other than feeling good. 

He soaps his free hand and widens his stance as far as he can in the shower tray. 

The gentle pressure she had used to get him to open up. 

He runs his fingers down his crack, leaning forward to make access easier. 

The way she looked at him when she slicked her fingers with spit and precome. The way he gasped and squirmed as the first one breeched him. The weird feeling of wanting it out and wanting more at the same time. A swirl of her tongue under his crown distracting him enough to relax and start to enjoy the stretch. 

His fingers are rougher, wider than hers but his hole still flutters as he brushes over it.

He’d almost cried when her mouth left him, but then her hand was there and she was pressing kitten licks to the seam of his balls, underneath them, his taint, then… 

The pad of his finger taps softly over on his entrance; stroking, teasing, and pressing into the velvet heat. His head lolls back and he bites back another deep moan at the dual sensation of pressure on his cock and in his ass. 

In his minds eye, Karen in going to town down there, burnt umber curls dancing between his spread thighs, he reaches down to grasp her hair… 

Its different, shorter, lighter. Her hand on his cock is larger. He was sure she had pink nail polish before…

He catches the mischievous glint in familiar hazel eyes looking up at him over his torso as hands like shovels reach underneath and he’s flipped over, his hips dragged up, ass in the air and Sammy dives straight back in.

Those soft pink lips kissing and sucking at the tight pucker. Sam’s hand closes around his shaft and strokes a quick firm rhythm and he’s lost, all he can do is thrash against the pillows and mewl helplessly. His balls tighten and his thighs shake at being spread so wide. He feels something soft and wet and realises its Sam’s tongue snaking its was past the firm outer ring of muscle into the soft channel beyond.

His vision whites as his orgasm rips from him, streaking the tile for the second time in…well not very long. He rinses and drags himself out of the shower, grateful the mirror is misted over so he doesn't have to look at himself. Seriously, what is wrong with him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed the latest installation. The story is turning out longer than I thought so there will be more coming. Hooray for smut! As always talk to me if there is anything you would like to see. Comments and con-crit always welcome.


	5. Chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments and Kudos- they make me very happy and inspire me to continue :D  
> Un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own

He dries himself off on the small, scratchy motel towel, combs his hair and brushes his teeth. He realizes that in his haste he forgot to bring any clothes in here. Steam billows out behind him as he opens the door and strides across to his bed, clutching the towel shut around his waist to preserve his modesty. Such as it is. Sam is spread eagled width-ways over the bed, head upside down turned to the TV, stupid girly hair nearly touching the floor, eyes fixed to the bright colours of the cartoon.

“Good shower?” he gives Dean a lascivious eyebrow wiggle.

Dean nearly chokes on thin air. Sure they’re dudes and they live in each other’s pockets, neither of them are naive but…but you just don’t talk about it OK?

“Shut up Sammy” the tips of his ears burning red.

Sam cackles at him as he hunts in his duffle for some boxer briefs, tugging them on under his terrycloth armor and locating a mostly clean pair of jeans. The cackles turn into coughing and Dean has not one ounce of sympathy, nope not one. He’s about the get Sam a drink and rub his back when the coughing turns back to laughter. He retrieves the thermometer from the first aid kit and shoves it in Sam’s mouth successfully checking his well-being and shutting him up in one fell swoop. 

Sam doesn’t even resist, still focused on…oh no, oh Hell no…sick or not, no Winchester watches the damn powder puff girls. He grabs the remote at the side of Sam and flicks down through the channels until he finds the Avengers. Sure, Captain America has a stick the size of a California Redwood up his ass but it’s better than the other cartoon that will be added to the list of things they don’t talk about. The thermometer bleeps

“102 Sammy, still high but its better at least” He’s pretty sure that it’s on the way back up though. He knows the signs like a second language. He’s been dealing with Sam when he’s been poorly his whole life. John might have done his best but patience wasn’t his number one virtue, especially not when there was snot, sick or poop involved.

He stows the thermometer back in the kit and pops another two Tylenol into his palm. Only two left, he needs to do a supply run sooner rather than later. He takes the pills and a cup of water over to Sam.

“C’mon Sammy sit up and take these”

“You’re bossy”

“Yup” He puts the pills and water on the bedside table “That’s what big brothers are for” He slips his hands underneath Sam’s shoulders and hefts him to a sitting position. Sam’s all weak with uncoordinated gangly arms and legs but with Dean’s help he manages to get himself upright and back to the pillows. Not before he’s managed to shove his armpit in Deans face. Dean sputters and his eyes water just a little.

“Jeez man you stink! You are getting in the bath when I get back”

Sam gives him a dopey smile and bats his eyelashes “You love my musk”

Dean snorts “Man we could use you to scare away bears right now” 

“Jerk” Sam giggles and sticks his tongue out.

“Bitch” Dean replied giving him a half smile. He picks up the pills and holds them out to Sam with the water. 

“Where are we going?” Sam asks between swallows.

“We aren’t going anywhere.” Dean takes the empty cup from Sam “I am going on a supply run and you are going to stay here and watch TV and nap OK?”

“Ok Dean, I’m kinda tired” He yawns loudly to make his point. Dean beckons him to sit forward and arranges the pillows into a little nest. Sam leans back and sighs contentedly. Dean head back to his duffle to find a clean or at least mostly clean Henley. He finds a grey one that smells unworn and pulls it over his still damp head. 

“Hey Dean?” 

“Yeah?”

“C’mere?” he glances over and Sam is watching the cartoon but beckoning him over, a funny little expression playing on his bottom lip. A shadow of a frown crosses Deans face as he crosses the three steps back to his brothers bed.

“Yeah Sammy?” 

“No, C’mere” Dean rolls his eyes

“You’re not going to make me smell your pits again are you? Cos I’ll pass”

Sam giggles “No but you gotta c’mere”

“Fine” he questions his wisdom in probably giving Sammy the pits idea but perches on the side of the bed. “What’s up Sammy?”

An electric shock startles him as Sasquatch paw pops out of the covers to grab his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Got your nose!” Sam bursts into giggles. Dean can’t help a smile; Sam can be so innocently silly when he’s got a fever.

He pats his younger brothers knee through the blanket. “OK buddy you keep it safe for me” He gets up to forage for some socks and put his boots on. As he’s lacing them up he looks at Sam, lost in the cartoon.

“OK Sammy I won’t be long; you want anything from the store?” Sam shakes his head and Dean continues “You need anything before I go? Do you need to go to the bathroom or anything? I don’t want you getting up on your own”

“No Dean, I’m good. Just…c’mere?”

Dean rolls his eyes “Ok but don’t get my eyes or my tongue- I need those to go to the store”

Sam gives him an Oscar worthy eye roll, holding his hands palm up, face serious “Dean…I don’t really have your nose…just c’mere” he flaps his hand at his brother for emphasis. Never one to refuse his brother, Dean heads over.

“What Sam?”

San turns on the puppy dog eyes, leaning forward and beckoning him closer

“C’mere” He yawns again, his eyelids starting to droop.

Dean leans over the bed, one hand braced either side of Sam’s legs. “OK?”

Without warning, Sam throws his arms around Dean, squeezing him close in a hug and nuzzles- freaking nuzzles- into the crook of Deans neck. He can’t help the smile as he wraps his arms around Sam, returning the hug. The skin of his neck tingles with the warm moisture of Sam’s breath as he mumbles sleepily.

“What Sammy?”

Sam tilts his head just a little 

“Loves you De”

He holds his brother for a few more beats, drinking in the warm softness of Sam’s skin before he pries the younger man away slightly and settles him back against the pillow. He snags one of the cushions from the other bed and places is on Sam’s torso, chucking softly as Sam’s arms immediately snake around it, holding it close. He’s such a cuddler. Sam shifts over onto his side, wheezing a little on the deep breaths in but looking comfortable spooning the shit out of the cushion. 

Dean places another cup of water and Sam’s cell phone on the bedside table just in case he wakes, grabs his jacket and treads softly across to the door. He pauses in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder to Sam’s slumbering form and whispers.

“Love you too Sammy”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out to be a mega-chapter...and then my husband "fixed" my computer and lost everything from chapter 2 onward (Cheers honey!!). Anyway I'm more or less back on track but to avoid further delay I've split cos it was too gosh darn long.  
> Please leave comments- it seriously makes my day when you guys talk to me. Next chapter up soon xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this was only supposed to be a couple of paragraphs but I got a bit carried away... so let us just bask in the awesomeness that is Dean Winchester...  
> Unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.

There is a convenience store only three blocks away. An overweight teen with oily skin and angry red acne poking up over the collar of his store polo shirt nods an acknowledgement to Dean as he enters and goes back to his game/text/tweetering; whatever the hell has his attention so rapt in the phone. 

Dean picks up a basket and heads up the first aisle. He picks up several bottles of Gatorade- Sammy has been sweating like a Grand Canyon donkey in August and he hasn’t really drank too much. He adds a pack of lemon and ginger tea, a few tins of chicken noodle soup because you don’t mess with the classics and a couple of packs of Tylenol® Extra Strength and a pack of Motrin® for good measure. He spots some oranges on the end of the fruit section and picks up four of the heaviest for vitamin C- see he does listen to Sammy’s lectures on nutrition.

He rounds the corner of the bakery section and sees two skinny little legs in dirty sneakers sticking out of the bottom shelf. He cocks his head to the side as the rest of the child shuffles backwards out from under the shelf. The shaggy blonde haired boy stands up, glaring at the shelves with a huff before picking up a loaf of Sunbeam and throwing it into a basket containing a gallon of milk and box of Captain Crunch. His left hand taps his pocket unconsciously. He directs the death glare to Dean, who is studying the selection of pies and not watching out of the corner of his eye as the kid hefts up his basket, plucks out a jar of peanut butter and, glancing around, shoves it into the pocket of his too baggy jeans. The kid stomps past him and Dean adds the cherry pie to his basket, glancing down to the empty bottom shelf where the long life super-value bread should be. He’s about to head down to the till when…

“LEGGOAME” and the sound of boxes hitting the floor. Dean is round the corner in six strides. He see’s the teenager with his fist wrapped so tight around the kid’s wrist his hand is turning white. The contents of the kid’s basket are strewn across the floor and the boy is pulling and fighting desperately to get away.

“I saw you shove it in your pocket” the clerk yells back.

“I didn’t steal nothin’ now LEMMEGO” the kid shrieks, his eyes wild.

He jerks the kid viciously “You’re coming with me and I’m calling the cops”

He starts to drag the kid across the floor but Dean blocks his way.

“There a problem here?” 

The clerk glares up at him.

Dean swallows “With my…er…nephew?” The kid’s eyes are suspicious but he keeps quiet. The clerks lip curls nastily.

“Yeah, the problem is your nephew is a thieving little shit” he announces loudly for the benefit of the other customers, shaking the kid by his wrist. The kid bites his lip and Dean steps into the clerk’s space. His tone is low and brokers no messing about,

“Let go of the boy” The clerk looks down and drops the kid’s wrist like it was a hot coal. The kid rubs at his purpling wrist and looks around wildly his eyes flitting between the clerk, Dean, the basket and the door. Dean gives him what he hopes is a smile “Put your stuff back in the basket…er...Eric”

The boy gives him a strange look but does as he’s told. The clerk is red in the face and splutters as he points to ‘Eric”

“He was stealing, I saw him put a tin in his pocket”

Dean shrugs “His basket’s full, we were heading to the checkout” Big brown eyes look up at him with an eyebrow raised slightly but thankfully his ‘nephew’ doesn’t say anything, just picks up the basket and stands meekly an arm’s length from Dean.

The clerks face and polo shirt are now pretty much the same shade of red, making him look like a giant tomato. He stabs a stubby finger toward the kid who flinches and ducks a little closer to Dean. 

“Tell it to the cops”

Dean steps close to the clerk, glancing at his name tag and slinging an arm around the irate teen, turning him away from the kid slightly to flash the FBI badge that identifies him as James Page.

“Well now Gary they’ll tell you what I’ll tell you now- it’s not theft until he leaves the store with the unpaid for produce- he didn’t leave so it’s not theft. Although I think the cops might want to discuss the law around assaulting a minor and those bruises you’ve left on his wrist” 

Gary looks at him wide-eyed. Dean leans closer and sniffs, whispering 

“Or the smell of pot on your uniform that the half can of Axe® is doing nothing to hide” 

Gary physically jerks back at that, grabbing his shirt collar and sniffing loudly. He looks a little pale when he looks up. 

Dean smiles encouragingly at him, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He tightens his grip around Gary’s shoulders just a fraction. 

“So what’s say we chalk all this up to a little misunderstanding eh Gary” He stoops a little to get into Gary’s eye line, smiles and nods. 

Gary follows his nodding.

Dean slaps him lightly on the shoulder “Atta boy Gary, good choice”. Gary scuttles back to the counter and Dean turns his attention to the boy.

“You got everything?” The boy eyes him suspiciously but nods. Dean snags the 10oz box of frosted flakes that has replaced the 20oz box of the chocolate cereal out of the basket.

“You don’t want these, they’re smashed” He tosses them back on the shelf and replaces it with the original box of cereal. The kid looks incredulous. Dean rests his hands on his thighs so he can lean a little closer but not close enough to be in his personal space and freak him out.

“And maybe you should put the peanut butter in the basket” he has to resist the urge to do a Buffalo Bill voice. The kid looks at his sneakers for a moment before digging the jar out of his pocket and holding it out to Dean. Dean waits until big brown eyes finally meet his and nods toward the basket. The kid complies and places it next to his milk. He goes to take a step toward the register.

“Er” Dean stops him “and the Spaghetti-O’s” The boy’s eyes are wide but he extracts the small tin from his other pocket and places it in the basket. They regard each other for a moment. Dean sighs,

“And the cheese” Anger crosses the kids face and he takes a step back.

“What the hell? You watching me?” Dean squats down so he’s more level with the kid, holding his hands up placating and lets out a little huff

“No, I just been where you are” Too many times he adds silently “Now let’s get this stuff checked out before Gary over there changes his mind” He pushes back up to standing and, taking a gamble, turns his back to the boy and heads to the checkout, pausing to get a coffee at the machine, supressing a smile when he hears to flop-flop-flop of loose sneaker soles behind him. 

He motions Eric to put his stuff on the counter along with Deans and hands him a bag.

“Make yourself useful” The kid is packing the last of the stuff when Dean hears a loud sniff behind him. He turns to see an elderly lady with white hair pulled into a severe bun, she wears a high necked frilly blouse with a large gold cross around her neck. Thick face powder cakes into the creases of her mean spirited face. She leans forward and hisses at Dean in a stage-whisper,

“You’re not that boy’s uncle” she purses her lips like she has just sucked on a lemon.

Deans eyebrows raise and the muscles around his mouth twitch “Excuse me?”

She scoffs “His mama got no idea who his Daddy is, much less his uncle” 

Dean catches a movement in the corner of his eye and he puts his hand out to still his ‘nephew’ from barrelling into the old woman but he doesn’t look away from her for a second.

“Get the bags kid” he orders, pulling his wallet out and leaning a little closer to the woman “What do you care?” his voice is low

She snorts and curls her lip into a nasty smile that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “I don’t.” She smirked cruelly at the young boy, “Deserves everything he gets that one.”

The kid goes pale and Dean has never wanted to gank a human so much before. He slaps the money on the counter and glares at her, green eyes cold and furious.

“You are one sick, twisted old broad. C’mon kid” he grabs the bags and his paper cup and gestures for the kid to walk ahead, putting himself between the boy and the old witch. He makes a mental note to check the papers for signs of witchcraft in the area.

He strides across the parking lot to the impala, throws his bags in the trunk and turns to sit on the tailgate with the kid’s groceries between his feet and his coffee in hand.  
The boy stands back, just out of reach, head down, scuffing his feet in the dirt. Dean takes a sip of his coffee.

“What’s your name kid?” The kid continues to draw circles with his toes, his foot pauses, a smile plays on his lips and he looks up at Dean through his lashes, 

“Eric”

Dean shrugs “First thing that came to me. So Eric how old are you?”

“Fourteen”

Dean huffs a laugh “Try again kid”

“Thirteen”

“No sale” he shakes his head. The boy gives him an eye roll worthy of Sammy

“Fine, twelve” he huffs “nearly”

Dean nods, he would have put ‘Eric’ at around ten, possibly even nine but then he’d been small for his age too. Big brown eyes regard him with curiosity.

“So why’d you help me?”

Dean smiles and gives a nano-shrug. He takes another sip of the hot drink. Eric tilts his head to the side, studying him,

“So it’s not because you want a blow job or something?” 

Dean spits his coffee half way across the parking lot, sputtering and choking until he’s red in the face. He looks at Eric through watery, horrified eyes.

“NO! Hell no. God how do you even know about” he gestures helplessly “that”

The kid shrugs, amused, “It’s called the internet Grandpa”

Dean shakes his head and sits back on the tailgate, looking straight at the boy

“Listen man, don’t ever offer anyone that and if they ask then kick ‘em in the balls and run like hell. You got that?” Eric gives him a solemn nod “Good” he chances another sip of the coffee and holds out the bag.

Eric takes it from him but doesn’t move from his spot “So why did you help me?”

Dean eyes flick to the right and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth

“Because you’re hungry”

“No I’m not”

“Sure. I got busted for stealing peanut butter when I wasn’t that much older than you, I wasn’t hungry either. You got folks at home?”

The boy’s chest puffs up and his face is hard “Just my mom and she works really hard”

Dean holds his hands up placating “I get that. Bet she relies on you a lot” 

Eric just nods. 

Dean continues “My Dad, he worked real hard, relied on me to look after my little brother,” Eric nods again, meeting his eyes, Dean smiles “See, that was how I knew about the Spaghetti-O’s, they were Sammy’s favourite when he was about five, barely ate anything else.”

Eric laughs “Joey’s too. Madison would just eat cereal if I let her” his face suddenly becomes wary again, realising he’s given too much information to a stranger.

Dean leans his elbow on his knee so he’s closer to the boy.

“Thing is kid, you get caught and they put you in juvie who’s gonna look after Joey and Madison?” You gotta be more subtle” He pulls out a small bag on M&M’s from his inside jacket pocket with a wink and tosses them to Eric. His little face breaks into a wide beam. 

“Thanks Mr”

Dean gives him a nod and stands up, 

“Speaking of little brothers I gotta get back to mine” he tells Eric, shutting the trunk of the Impala “You need a ride?”

Eric shakes his head, toeing gravel again “No. Thanks for the groceries and…er…ya know.”

“Yeah” 

Eric starts to turn,

“Oh one more thing kid” Dean pulls $20 that he hustled fair and square out of his wallet, he holds it to Eric who doesn’t move to take it. Dean rolls his eyes. Stubborn. He takes a step forward and pushes it into the top of the grocery bag “Don’t let me catch you shoplifting again, capische?”

Whether it’s the way he says ‘catch’ or the expression on Dean’s face but Eric smiles again, a real genuine smile that makes his eyes shine and makes him look so much more like the kid he should be.

“Yeah Mr, I capische” a wry smile twists Deans mouth that he knows the phrase. The little boy solemnly thrusts his right hand at Dean. Dean squats again to be on eyelevel with him and shakes his hand. He almost has to strain to hear

“My name’s Todd” Todd looks shyly at him for a second before giving him a wave and taking off across the parking lot. His gait off balance with the heavy bag.

“Good to meet you Todd” he whispers back before yelling “And stay off the internet” Todd turns and laughs “Until you’re at least fifteen” he mumbles to himself. He watches Todd disappear into the park behind the store and climbs into the Impala to head back to Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so tangent and a half right? Don't worry kids poorly Sammy is back next chapter. Remember what Dean threatened him with last chapter? yeah that...mwahahahahaha :)
> 
> I love hearing from you guys- seriously its what keeps my writing fires burning so feel free to leave comments xx


	7. Chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sick Sammy in this chapter. Poor Sam.  
> Unbeta'd- all mistakes are my own.

Dean tucks the groceries under his arm to get the key in the door. He hasn’t been more than half an hour but it’s starting to get hot out. The stuffy heat of the motel room hits him right in the face as he steps over the threshold. A sickly yellow pall from the still-closed curtains casts over the room. The TV plays quietly to itself, Sam is lay on his back, mouth slightly open, wheezing in between soft snores. Dean puts the bag on the kitchenette table, pulling out a bottle of orange Gatorade. He frowns as he gets closer to Sammy and notices the bright splotches of high colour back on his face, goosebumps pepper his arms and his chest. He places the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead like he remembers his mum doing once upon a time. He’s scorching.

Sam looks up at him through squinty eyes when his brothers hand leaves him.

“De?” He rasps

“Yeah I’m here Sammy, how you feeling?”

“Don’t feel good.” he coughs, straining his already wrecked voice.

“I know Sammy, let me check your temp and I’ll make you feel better.”

Sam nods weakly and closes his lips around the thermometer. Dean cards a hand through his sweaty, greasy hair and grimaces, wiping his hand on his jeans. He heads into the bathroom and rinses out the tub before starting the water running. The thermometer is bleeping as he leaves the bathroom.

“104, shit Sammy.” he runs a still damp hand over his blonde spikes. Sam can’t have any more Tylenol it’s too early but the Motrin will be OK. He grabs the pack and pops a couple into Sam’s hand. He doesn’t make any move to take them as Dean unscrews the Gatorade.

“C’mon Sammy, you need to take the pills buddy. I’m just gonna check the bath, you take those pills.”

He adds more cold until the bath is lukewarm before shutting off the water and heading back. The small yellow capsules are still in Sam’s palm, another wave of goosebumps littering his chest as a shiver wracks him. Sam’s eyes are glassy and he isn’t really with it.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, taking the fever reducers from Sam’s sweaty paw. He gently shakes Sam’s shoulder, Sam shrugs him off, grumbling, not looking at him. 

“C’mon Sammy I need you to take this.”

Dean pats his cheek, the side of his thumb stroking the two-day scruff between pats. Sam squeezes his eyes tighter shut but leans his cheek into Deans hand. Dean chuckles.

“Fine, have it your way.”

He pokes the first pill into Sam’s mouth, closely followed by the second. Soft dry lips graze his fingers and send a little electric sizzle down his spine. He jerks his fingers away quickly and holds the drink bottle to Sam’s lips before he can register the jump. Sam sips at the orange liquid, he smiles as the coolness soothes his sore throat and a dribble escapes down his chin, Dean swipes it away with his thumb without a second thought. Sam’s eyes open again. Dean smiles at him.

“You gonna take your drink Samantha or do I have to sit here all day bottle feeding you-again?” his tone is soft, belying the teasing. Sam tries to take the drink but he’s too uncoordinated and shaky and ends up just holding onto Deans wrist as he gradually feeds him the whole bottle, pausing between coughing, rubbing Sam’s back with his free hand when he needs it. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly as he gets fluids and electrolytes into his brother. 

When the bottle is eventually empty, Dean pats Sam’s knee and stands up pulling the sheet back with him. He leans over to open the window and air the stifling room out while they’re in the bathroom.

“Hey” Sam grumbles, his flushed, bright eyed bitch-face more adorable than threatening.

“C’mon Sam, you’re gonna stick to those sheets you stay there any longer and you stink.” He yanks Sam’s long legs over the edge of the bed and slinging an arm around his brother before he can fall backwards. “C’mon I gotcha.”

He helps Sam to stand up. It’s like walking Bambi on fudging ice to the bathroom but they make it there. He props the wobbly giant between his hip and the door frame and gestures to the toilet.

“You need to go?”

Sam shakes his head and Dean frowns, he’s not sure last time Sammy peed. He’s gonna need to get more fluids down him and keep an eye on that, make sure he isn’t dehydrated and his kidneys are working properly. However, he can hear the Gatorade swishing in Sam’s stomach as they walked and he doesn’t want to force so much down him that he’s sick again. He’ll get him a drink after he’s cleaned up.

He pulls Sam from his leaning post and dumps him on the closed toilet lid, one hand on Sam’s shoulder to steady him as he checks the temperature again. He adds a little more warm water so its tepid; he’s not cruel.

“Right c’mon.” he hauls Sam up from the toilet and unceremoniously pulls his boxer briefs down his legs, standing on them so Sam can extract his feet.

“Buy me dinner first.” Sam slurs. Dean rolls his eyes,

“Look who got his sense of humour back,” he nudges Sam to the tub “lift your foot” he instructs steadying him with a hand on his shoulder and bare hip, looking everywhere but his err…not-so-little little brother. Which is how Sam gets the drop on him.

The second his foot hits the water he squeals and pushes back. Dean stumbles, catching himself on the sink, lunging forward to catch Sam as he starts to fall back. Hooking his arms under Sam’s, he manhandles him back toward the tub and half into the water. Sam outright screams and it tears into Dean deeper than any blade

“Noooo, no, no plea…co…cold...no..De..De..no.”

His heart breaking, Dean pushes Sam’s burning, shivering frame further into the tub, water splashing everywhere, soaking through his jeans, sloshing onto the tile. He has to concentrate on not slipping as he continues to wrestle Octo-Sam in the tub. He bites his lip, his eyes stinging as Sam tries to climb out, sobbing and howling, grasping at Dean.

“Col…De..hurts…no…no more…st…stop…De…plea…nooooo.” Each word punctuated with a gasp, a sob, a new futile attempt to climb out, his hands reaching for Dean, an unspoken plea to save him.

A tear escapes down Dean’s cheek, he knows Sam needs the cool bath but goddamn if it’s not tearing him up to do this. His throat is thick and his voice cracks,

“Please Sammy, you gotta…”

Sam cuts him off with another heart breaking sob, grasping blindly at Deans Henley

“Deeeeeeeee…”

Dean wipes his face on the soft material covering his shoulder.

“Sammy…” 

He’s cut off by an almighty banging on the wall and an angry shout.

“Shut the fuck up in there.” a muffled voice yells, punctuating the sentence with another bang on the other side of the wall. Dean wants to yell back but words won’t come past the lump blocking his throat. He can’t risk them being kicked out of the motel, Sam is too sick and god only knows how far the next motel will be.

Sam is crying pitifully, whiny ‘Deeee’s escaping between sobs, his attempts at getting out of the water have weakened. He’s swatting at the side of the tub and swaying dangerously, no longer having the strength to push himself up and out of what little water remains. Instead his long fingers grasp at Deans soaked jeans and Henley, desperate for comfort.

Sighing Dean yanks his Henley off over his head one handed, the other hand pressing on Sam’s shoulder keeping him in the bath. He switches hands to toss the shirt off his arm into the corner and undo his jeans. He shimmies out of them as Sam takes advantage of his distraction to try another escape. Luckily for Dean Sam is too exhausted to do much more than pull himself up on the side of the bath, normally strong arms shaking with the effort. 

Keeping his boxers and socks on, because fighting Octo-Sam on wet tile on one leg whilst trying to take your socks off is just begging for a head injury, he steps into the tub behind Sam and sits down, stretching his legs around Sam and pulling him back into the V between them. Sam’s back pressed to his chest, his arms tight around him. Sam fights him powerlessly, Dean simply holds him tighter.

“Shhhh Sammy, its ok, I got ya, I got ya…shhhh now.” he murmurs into Sam’s hair, gross with sweat and grease and probably some grave dirt from the previous night still. 

Sam has stopped howling and is crying softly. He shuffles around, trying to get more comfortable, spilling more water from the edge of the tub. He shifts more to his side and buries his face in the crook of Deans neck, tears burning trails down Deans skin. Another drop of moisture from Deans eye tracks down to join them. He holds Sam close and rocks him gently as the fight drains out of him.

Dean nudges the taps with wool covered toes, topping up the water, keeping the temperature tepid. He pulls the wash cloth to him and drapes it strategically over Sam’s lap wanting to give him a little privacy. 

He cups his hand and dribbles water over Sam’s chest, back and shoulders, letting it evaporate, taking the fever with it. He tries to ignore the drag of hot skin over his cold-pebbled nipples, the warm breath puffing onto the sensitive skin of his neck, the silky scrape of stubble over his collarbone, the weight that fits just right on his chest, soothing the ache right in its centre, the long hairy legs tangled round his.

His heart slows its hammering, his shoulders relax and he leans his head back against the back of the tub. Disturbed from his hideaway in Deans neck, Sam shuffles and squirms up Deans chest a few inches. Dean lets out an ‘ooffff’ when he gets a baby moose elbow to his solar plexus but let’s Sam make himself comfortable. 

Unfortunately, all the squirming has Sam’s hip rubbing against Deans groin. The water is not cold enough for him to be putting up with this he tells himself whilst he bites the inside of his cheek bloody for the second time in 24 hours. He’s gonna have no cheek left at this rate. He almost loses it right there when Sam shifts again and his cock is pressed into the V of Sam’s hip bone, the pressure and friction from his wet shorts and Sam’s incessant fidgeting too much and not enough.

He pushes Sam away from him to sit upright, twisting him to face away from him once more. His lips move but he can’t get any words out, his throat feels like it’s closing over. Sam whines and lolls his head to look at Dean over his shoulder. Dean sits up straight so Sam can’t see anything and coughs self-consciously,

“C’mon let’s get you washed up and outta here.” His voice sounds like he’s chained smoked a whole pack of unfiltered and washed them down with the cheapest whiskey he could find. He coughs again, not sure what to make of the look Sam is giving him. 

“Get the soap Sammy?” he points to the foot end of the tub. Sam ignores him and flops his head back onto Deans shoulder with a tired whine. Dean huffs a laugh.

“Lazy bitch.” employing his sock clad toes once more, he drags the small bar of hotel soap off the side and swirling the water to carry it towards him.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters, he really does look wrung out, his battle against the bath stripping away his last reserves. Dean softens and lathers the washcloth.

“Things I do for you Sammy” he mutters tenderly as he washes up Sam’s arms and scrubs underneath them, kinda mesmerized by the way the tiny bubbles cling to the hair, thicker and darker than his own. He rinses out the cloth and re-soaps it, lathering wide soapy circles over Sam’s broad chest, positively not looking at his pale tipped nipples peaking under his gentle touch. He shoves Sam forward ignoring the grumble and scrubs his back before rinsing the suds off.

“Tip your head back and I’ll wash your hair Samantha”

He uses a cup to wet Sam’s hair and pours some of the apple scented shampoo into his hand. He finger-combs it through the lank stands, careful not to catch on snags and pull. Gently he massages it into a lather, tugging with the barest pressure, finger tips rubbing small circles concentrating around Sam’s temples, above and behind his ears. 

He tries not to listen as Sam positively purrs, arching back into his touch. He reaches for the cup and rinses before he can pay too much attention to the warm feeling circling low in his belly. 

He pushes Sam to schooch forward and braces his hands on the sides of the tub to heave himself out. He quickly wraps a towel round his waist, covering his modesty- which is anything but goddamn modest and is dying to get in on the party- before peeling his wet boxer briefs away from his skin. He squeezes them out over the bath much to Sammy’s snort of disgust and tosses them in the sink with his socks.

He pulls over the bathmat to soak up as much as possible of the spillage and kneels at the side of the tub. Sam’s back is hunched over his knees and he is nearly asleep sitting up. He’ll leave giving his scruffy face a shave until later. He jumps when Dean plunges a hand into the water for the wash cloth. Dean grins at him and waggles his eyebrows. 

“Dropped the soap.” he teases. Sam snorts a laugh. Dean makes quick work scrubbing Sam’s gross hobbit feet and lower legs. He absolutely does not let his fingers trail over the curves of Sam’s spindly, hairy calves. Sam giggles when his fingers graze the back of his knees. He rinses and re-soaps and holds the cloth to Sam who is looking at his with that same weird expression he hasn’t worked out from before.

“You can manage your own junk man.” Sam takes the cloth and drops his knees a fraction. Dean pushes himself up to standing, turning to the sink to give Sam a little privacy but not before he’s caught sight of the straining purple head of Sam’s cock bobbing above the waterline. He near swallows his tongue.

“I…er…I’ll grab you some pyjamas…you be OK?” he’s out the bathroom door before he hears Sam grunt in the affirmative. 

He leans his forehead against the cool wall outside the bathroom, feeling like he’s drowning. His tongue is too big for his mouth and he just can’t get enough air in. What does it mean? What does it mean?

‘Get a grip’ he mutters to himself, running his trembling hands over his face, dragging his mouth down. He shakes his head. Sam’s sick, he doesn’t have control over his body right now. He stalks over to the bags and pulls out dry clothes for them both. Besides, he smirks, Sammy’s still young enough he can probably get hard over tomato soup. 

He heads back into the bathroom, Sam is hunched over, forehead resting on his knees, the soapy cloth floating by his side. His back is a wall of goose-flesh and he’s shivering. Dean kneels by the side of the bath again pushing back the curtain of wet hair so he can see Sam’s face.

“You OK Sammy?”

Sam nods but Dean is horrified to see tears on his face. He strokes the wayward hair behind Sam’s ear, Sam leans into his touch.

“What’s the matter?” he asks softly.

Sam shakes his head.

“Come on,” he coaxes

“Don’t leave me.” the reply is whispered so quietly, Dean isn’t sure he’s heard right.

“I’m not leaving you idiot,” he admonishes “I was just getting some clothes out.” 

Another shiver shakes Sam’s whole body. “Come on Sammy we gotta get you out, you all done?” he motions down to Sam’s lap. 

Sam bites his lip and shakes his head just fractionally, no. He reaches out for the cloth but his arm is shaking so badly he misses. His eyes well up again. Concerned he’s racing back toward fever induced delirium again, Dean pats his shoulder,

“Hey no reason to get weepy, you want me to help you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer but grabs the cloth and plunges it down between Sam’s legs. He keeps his eyes fixed on the tile over the taps as he washes over the inside of Sam’s thighs and up to his groin. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Sam as he reaches his balls, heavy and tight through the thin towelling. He has to swallow hard when the edge of his fingers catch on the velvet skin of Sammy’s half-hard length. He fights the urge to wrap his fingers around it, callused hands on silk, and stroke; lightly at first, coaxing him to swell and stiffen to full arousal in his palm. To make his breath stutter and draw little gasps from his perfect pink lips. To watch little beads of precome leak from the slit. To lean down and …

The whole body shiver from Sam jerks Dean from his little day dream and he snatches his hand away with a splash. Sam’s cheeks are pink and he lets out the shaky breath he’s been holding. His eyes are dark. Dean coughs, stalling to get his voice back. 

“Tell anyone I washed your junk and I’ll tell them you wet the bed until you were sixteen,” he threatens but there’s no power behind it. He helps a shaking Sam to his feet and quickly scrubs his butt before reaching back for a towel,

“And you don’t wanna know what I’ll tell people if you even mention washing your ass.” Sam gives a little chuckle and pulls the towel tighter around his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't half enjoy whumping on the boys don't I?   
> Please let me know what you think, comments keep me going :)


	8. Chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Guys. I'm so sorry to have kept you hanging- I have writers block of George RR Martin proportions!! I think this is like the 6th time I have re-written this chapter...
> 
> Unbeta'd-all mistakes are my own

Dean makes quick work of drying Sam off and helping him into the clean boxers and T-shirt having decided against putting on the sweat pants. He dresses himself, sweat pants and all and vigorously towels Sam’s hair and combs it into some sort of order as Sam does a feeble job of brushing his teeth.

Leaning Sam's hip against his, they shamble back to the sleeping area. Sam is still warm but the heat isn’t pouring off him like it was, the Motrin and bath must be helping.

“Can you sit up for a minute Sammy?” 

Sam nods, so Dean pushes one of the chairs from the kitchenette table against the wall with his foot and deposits Sam onto the seat. He pulls another bottle of the Gatorade, blue this time, out of the fridge and opens it.

“Here, you sip at that while I sort the bed” He makes quick work of stripping the sweat-damp, dirty sheets from Sam’s bed and replacing them with the thin spares in the wardrobe tucking in the hospital corners with military precision.

Sam has managed to drink just over a third of the… what the hell is ‘Cool’ flavour anyway? Maybe some goes down the wrong way, maybe its just the cough but his chest spasms and he’s coughing, a barking hacking cough, he’s gulping air in the half seconds between coughs, Dean see’s him going pale, grabs the trash can from the side of the bed and executes a slide worthy of major league baseball just as the blue liquid makes a reappearance. For once Dean is grateful he hasn’t eaten yet or he’d be fighting Sammy for the bucket. 

He comes back out of the bathroom from clean up duty to find Sam slumped over bracing his forearms on the table, pillowing his head. Dean jostles him, 

“Come on Sam. You can’t sleep here.” Sam grumbles but allows himself to be steered back into the bathroom. He lets Dean wipe his face, brushes his teeth again and holds down a few sips of water. He is practically asleep on his feet when Dean helps him stand and stagger back to bed.

He sighs with contentment and nestles down into the cool, clean dry sheets. He grabs Dean’s wrist when he pulls the thin top sheet up to his waist.

“De?”

“Yeah Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes are downcast, he’s squirmy in the bed and chewing on his lower lip. Dean gently thumbs it out from between his teeth before he can make it bleed.

“What’s the matter?” His stomach is in knots. Oh god he’s going to want to talk about inappropriate boners and feelings and shit and Dean can’t. He just cannot.

“Will you read me some of my book?” 

Dean blinks. And again. And he couldn’t tell if it was sheer relief that for once, Sam didn’t want to talk about feelings or if it was the puppy dog eyes, cranked all the way to full power that Sam was giving him but he had the beaten up copy of The Black Man that Sam had picked up on a used book shelf in a mom-and-pop gas station for 50₡.

Sam a little whine and rolls onto his hip, schooching over to make room when Dean headed to sit back on his own bed. 

Dean rolled his eyes,

“What are you? like eight?” he grouses but there’s no heat in it. The cheap motel bed frame creaks ominously as he sits down on the edge and swings his legs up. He shifts and wriggles and the bed creaks again when he has to lean over and snag a pillow off the other one, bunching it up and stuffing it between the headboard and the small of his back.

Sam grins at him “Bad back old man?”

He cuffs Sam’s head playfully “Do you want a bedtime story or not Samantha?”

Cue the puppy dog eyes again. Dean opens the tatty paperback where Sam had placed a scrap of paper to mark his place. Something sci-fi about body swapping and murder and a virtual brothel. As he turned the pages he’s aware of the soft tickle of Sam’s hair on his arm, the warm breath on his skin bringing goosebumps to the surface. Before long Sam’s head rests on Deans shoulder. He should really push Sam off, but he feels relaxed for the first time in weeks and Sam’s breathing evens out and when he looks sleepily through his lashes at Dean, he just doesn’t have the heart.

Instead he shushed him and dropped his cheek to the top of Sam’s head, just for a second, letting him know it was ok and continued to read. He did not get a lump in his throat when the woman’s husband didn’t recognise her in the new body she had been downloaded into. If he wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders as he goddamn snuggled closer, it was because it was going dead with Samsquatsh leaning on it. And he would deny until his dying breath, that he lay propped up on the bed, reading aloud and combing his fingers through his brother’s soft damp hair, long after Sam had drifted off to sleep.

Right there in that motel room, Sam’s warm body pressed into his, Sam’s fingers curling into the hem of Dean’s shirt, head resting on his chest, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his ribcage out of the corner of his eye Dean felt content. The knots that bunched his neck and lower back loosened, his shoulders felt lighter, the furrows in his forehead relaxed, he felt warm and floaty. It wasn’t long before the book fell to the floor and he was snoring softly alongside Sam, wrapped up in each other.

 

The light outside indicated late afternoon, early evening when Dean opened his eyes.  
He blinks his gritty eyes and reaches under his pillow for his knife, an action on waking as familiar as rubbing ones eyes. His fingers brush the flared wooden pommel of the demon killing knife instead of the smooth metal of his Bowie knife. He’s disorientated for half a second before his brain registers the soft wheezy snores just to his left and realises he must have dozed off reading to Sam.

He cusses to himself, its not like him to fall asleep on the job. His neck is stiff from the awkward position he fell asleep in. Sam’s head is still resting against his shoulder, his knees pressing into Dean’s hip. 

Dean cranes his neck, wincing as a vertebrae pops, to check on Sam but his floppy girl hair blocks Dean’s view. He pushes it back. Sam’s face is relaxed, the lines on his forehead smooth, making him look younger. His mouth is slack with sleep and he’s left a little patch of drool on Dean’s tee. Nice. Pushing back an errant strand of hair that has suck itself to the corner of his lips, Dean’s fingertips ghost over Sam’s cheekbone.

Sam makes a very-happy-dream noise.

Dean freezes.

His belly tightens. His chest feels weird. He realises he is holding his breath. 

Sam is still fast asleep. He lets out another breathy little sound. Dean feels stupid. Just coincidence. He chuckles. Even the flu or whatever can’t put a dent in Sammy’s libido. That’s his boy.

He wonders if he can reach his phone. Always good to have bribery material.

In the name of science he strokes the smooth, warm skin of Sam’s cheek again.

The last time Dean heard a moan like that it was in porn. It goes straight to his core, a tugging sensation low in his belly. He’s too hot, its too hot in here. He starts to get up but Sam presses his cheek further into his shoulder.

“Dean” It’s more of an exhalation than a spoken word, breathy and inviting

“Sorry Sammy, sorry, shhh” but a quick glance tells him Sam is still sound asleep. Placing his hand under Sam’s head so he won’t fall, he shuffles out from under his brother. His brother. Who he was making moan like a pornstar. Without even videoing it. Sicko. 

He pushes away so quickly he lands on the carpet on his butt and one foot still on the bed with a soft “oof”. Sam rolls away, onto his back with another soft “De”.

“Yeah Sammy I’m still here” From his position on the floor the tenting of the sheets over Sam’s crotch is pretty much impossible to ignore. He scrambles to his feet as if he were in a fight. 

Once up he feels ridiculous. His hands feel too big for his arms, he feels clumsy and awkward, his hearts beating too fast, his cheeks are hot and there is an uncomfortable heat in his jeans. The room is too small, he can’t breathe.

He grabs his leather jacket off the back of the kitchenette chair and storms out the door, Sam calling after him. He gets half way across the parking lot when a sharp sting on his feet brings him back to himself he realises he’s wearing sweat pants and still has bare feet.

He stands in the parking lot in sleep pants, bare feet and a leather jacket until a wolf whistle from a blonde woman hanging out of a passing truck with a pink cowboy hat declaring her to be “The Bride” pulls him from his fuge.

He grins sheepishly at the attention. She’s kinda cute. He rolls his shoulders and heads back to the room. He just needs some air. That’s all. Maybe a beer. Or a shot of Jack. But first he needs jeans and shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slogging through the next chapter so hopefully it wont be as long this time. I appreciate y'all bearing with me.  
> Comments are love people :)


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